Zoom in on the 50^th and France area of Minneapolis/Edina, two cities far apart in so many ways but divided by just a street width in this part of town. You cross thirty feet of asphalt and get the privilege (for so it’s considered by many) to assert "I’m from Edina" … implicit in the self-satisfied tone of voice a certain notion of success, not to say a poor-cousin attitude toward your neighbors.

Was it always this way? About fifteen years have passed since I started frequenting 50^th and France. The cachet of the area was there then too, but, it seems to me, pretentiousness has increased …

Zoom in further on the northeast corner of the 51^st and France intersection and wind the clock back fifteen years. An authentic, almost quaint Japanese restaurant, Su Zu Me, occupies the corner storefront. Nothing fancy about the place; a hardworking family attempting to convince Middle America that sushi and Japanese noodle dishes and rice bowls are a worthy alternative to lo-mein at the nearby Lotus.

The attempt doesn’t succeed. The corner remains unoccupied for sometime before another restaurateur determines it has the right formula for Edinapolis … Pasqual’s establishes a second outlet for the Southwestern deli after the original Uptown (Henn. Ave.) one. It’s a hint of where the neighborhood is headed, this studied casualness with neon lizards and pony Corona bottles turned into salt and pepper shakers … but it’s handwritten blackboard menu and plastic food baskets and here’s-a-cup-go-get-your-own-coffee service.

Which brings us to the here-and-now, and, finally, to the venue for this week’s lunch, the newest inhabitant of the storied 51^st and France storefront, a place designed with clientele from the spa and boutiques in mind, not to ever be mistaken for a mom-and-pop shop or a tamale deli. . . in this corner, Arezzo Ristorante.

Arezzo’s fare is as you would anticipate: pizza from a brick oven, several pastas, salads, entrees and sandwiches rounding out a menu you’ve seen before if you eat out much at all . . . except for a few hints of overachievement, most notably one special: squid stuffed with tiger prawns, red bell peppers, ricotta, sautéed in white wine, and dressed with a green pea sauce, asparagus, and tomatoes.

The wine list consists of four whites and five reds by the glass, and a long by-the-bottle list that, on the red side, is organized by body. My 2001 Barbera D’Asti ($6.95) was too soft and round for my palate initially, but grew on me as the meal progressed.

We started with a sautéed spinach appetizer, garnished with pine nuts and grated parmesan. It was served with flat bread—pizza with no toppings, basically, with garlic cloves and a hint of rosemary in the dough. The bread was excellent, even wonderful, and the spinach was very good as well.

B had another one of the specials, hand-made potato dumplings with spinach and Italian pancetta. I first thought that these would be something like gnocchi, but instead the dumplings were deep fried . . . all this effort for a dish that was really quite bad, the barest bit of crispness on the outside giving way to nothing but mush.

My entrée order was a spinach fettuccine (iron deficiencies in both B and me were taken care of this day) with a mild sausage in a tomato sauce. The fettuccine came as narrow, fat noodles—cross-section more square than oblong. The texture was strangely dichotomous too, both rubbery and soft. Garlic slices were prominent in the robust, herbal tomato sauce. A so-so dish, although the overall effect was improved by more of the pizza bread that came with it.

For dessert we split an order of profiteroles. Profiteroles are to me what tiramisu is to B—I love them when done right. These were done wrong. The cream puffs (its cream not custard or ice cream here—a pleasantly authentic touch) were completely covered in chocolate mousse (yes, mousse, not sauce) and cocoa powder. On first glance you think you’ve got scoops of chocolate ice cream. It wasn’t just a matter of presentation either … all that chocolate completely overwhelmed the cream puffs.

Arezzo’s décor is a discordant mélange of styles. There seem to be as many wall treatments as there are walls. On a previous visit I sat under a mural, ostensibly a reproduction of a famous piece, with a horse’s rear end over my plate. On this occasion it was faux marble and heavy burgundy cloth curtains in the immediate vicinity. The place is small and the stuffy; busy furnishings make it seem smaller yet. A wine bar has also been squeezed in. Sidewalk dining is an option, under umbrellas advertising San Pellegrino and Illy … but the Euro-branding effect undone by stained and unattractive metal mesh tables.

"Authentic Italian Cuisine," the menu boasts as a tag line, putting to rest any doubts you might have had about labeling the restaurant pretentious.

Some of you may know the space. It was previously occupied by Pasqual’s and lies on a busy portion of France Avenue. Walking from my car to the restaurant I saw the sidewalk tables with their San Pellegrino umbrellas holding the Edina sun at bay. This sight—obviously designed to please—for some reason is singularly irritating – this isn’t a cobbled Tuscan street, after all. A large wood burning brick oven (read standard rant in previous reviews) dominates the Inside but otherwise it’s a pleasant enough spot and even manages a bit of Italian bonhomie with its colorful posters. The floor is marbled (fake...?) but mercifully the décor isn’t quite on the scale of a Bacio or a Zelo!

I started with a glass of nondescript Chianti, a slight, dour wine, out of a possible nine wines by the glass. From the appetizers we chose the spinaci alla  veneta, a spinach sautéed with garlic. Not an inspired choice as it turned out; oil infused blandness is the best way to describe it. The menu lists seven appetizers and we might have done better with the fresh mussels or the polenta. The entrées, not surprisingly, are Italian/Tuscan and I thought I'd try something entirely new: crocchette di patate (potato dumplings stuffed with spinach and Italian pancetta). This dish is served with the three dumplings arranged like a propeller with salad greens interspersed in between. All this could be forgiven if the dish had the slightest redeeming quality, e.g. taste or aroma. The dumplings had the consistency of mush, and it was difficult to tell where the potatoes finished and the spinach started (the pancetta was a non-starter). To compound matters the dish was served at a temperature less than lukewarm. I did what I could to try and make it edible; adding pepper and salt didn’t do anything for it. I tasted A’s dish (pasta—of some sort—with Italian sausage). The pasta was a bit dodgy (strange texture) but the sausage wasn’t bad. In hind sight we might have done better for ourselves by ordering a pizza from that  wood-fired oven. To finish things we shared an order of profiteroles (cream filled pastry covered with chocolate). After the crisp flat bread served with our appetizer this was the best thing we had. The cream was fresh and the pastry held up under our forks.

Stay away from Arezzo it’s needlessly expensive ($60.00) and the food is unforgivably bad. If you must have expensive Italian go up the road to PVD (which is a one of kind and,  unlike Arezzo, not a member of Gruppo Ristoratori Italiani -- 120 restaurants), where the prices are steep but the food and service sublime.

B